


The Law Of Return

by Kendrene



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Magic, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 06:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12882474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrene/pseuds/Kendrene
Summary: “Do you know of the Threefold Law?” Morrigan asks - more so that she can see the adorably annoyed look cross the Seeker’s face, than anything else.They are laying on her bed, a warm pelt wrapped around their naked bodies as they talk, to ward off the chill that often plagues Skyhold’s echoing halls.Predictably Cassandra scoffs, and her voice when she replies is clipped, as cold as the mountain air making the windowpanes rattle.ORCassandra and Morrigan share some intimacy, and realize they have found more in each other's arms than they bargained for.





	The Law Of Return

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Wow - I really have not written Dragon Age fic in a while - it just ties to some bad memories for me. But I saw a lot of art on tumblr lately and got the itch again. 
> 
> As always your feedback is much appreciated! Happy reading.
> 
> \- Dren

“Do you know of the Threefold Law?” Morrigan asks - more so that she can see the adorably annoyed look cross the Seeker’s face, than anything else.

They are laying on her bed, a warm pelt wrapped around their naked bodies as they talk, to ward off the chill that often plagues Skyhold’s echoing halls.

Predictably Cassandra scoffs, and her voice when she replies is clipped, as cold as the mountain air making the windowpanes rattle. 

“Of course I do!  _ Principles of Magic _ is read by all aspiring Seekers so that we can better deal with…” She trails off, and her hazel eyes soften, her cheeks tinting with ill-conceived shame. 

“With Apostates.” Morrigan finishes for her, reaching up to trail the tip of a finger along Cassandra’s angular jaw. “It’s quite alright to say it. It’s what I am, and I don’t usually take offence in the truth.” 

Cassandra looks like she’s about to argue, her frown digging a severe line between drawn eyebrows, but when Morrigan’s fingers stray lower, skimming down her throat, she closes her mouth with an audible  _ click _ and shivers. 

“What does the Law of Threes have to do with…” She gestures vainly with one hand - her voice somewhat unsteady - and the pelts slide down her front, baring her breasts. 

“Oh,” Morrigan smirks, pulling the fur all the way down to the foot of the bed, so that she can straddle Cassandra’s hips without impediment, “I just meant that all good things come in threes.” 

She gives Cassandra enough time to understand what she’s hinting at, and when the Seeker’s eyes widen in bewildered surprise, she bends down to kiss her.

She loves the way the Seeker’s lips eagerly part with the first swipe of her tongue, how the lean body beneath her - hard with muscle - tenses and arches into her softer curves. 

Morrigan promised Cassandra she’d leave her spent, and she intends to see her promise through. There is a relentlessness animating the Seeker, the driven will of someone who often foregoes sleep in the pursue of duty, and even though Cassandra masks her tiredness well, Morrigan has seen her shoulders slump when she thought nobody was looking. She’s watched shadows gather beneath Cassandra’s keen eyes, and witnessed her sharp gaze grow dull as she and the Inquisitor discussed the best way to stop Corypheus, night in, night out. 

She knows she won’t be able to draw another climax out of the warrior after this one, and she intends to make it one Cassandra will remember for weeks to come. 

Their kiss deepens, and Morrigan captures Cassandra’s lower lip between her teeth, pulling harshly before soothing the bite with her tongue. The Seeker whimpers, hips leaving the bed and legs falling open invitingly. Morrigan smirks into the kiss, shifting to slot her own hips between Cassandra’s legs, a small sigh pushing past her lips when their mounds brush against each other. 

“Ahhh,” Cassandra’s moan is deep and throaty, her arms closing around Morrigan’s back to hold her close. “I don’t think I can…” The protest is weak and unconvincing, Cassandra’s hips bucking again, seeking more friction. 

“Oh I think you can.” Morrigan teases, her smirk widening. 

She breaks away from the kiss and pulls herself up, Cassandra’s hands falling away in laxitude the moment she starts to grind down. Morrigan lets her gaze rake the Seeker’s body freely. Cassandra’s skin is marred by battle scars, some old and faded to nothing more than whitish lines, others new, still pink and puckered. In Morrigan’s opinion they only serve to make Cassandra’s more enticing, and she’s said so to the Seeker, proving her point by spending hours kissing every inch of her when Cassandra scornfully deflected the compliment. 

Little by little, the tension that always lines the Seeker’s back with steel eases, and with each slow rolling of Morrigan’s hips the warrior sinks deeper into the bed. 

Her head is thrown back to expose the elegant column of her throat, and Morrigan presses hungry kisses to her pulse point, breathing deeply of her scent. Cassandra’s skin is saturated with the tanginess of their combined arousal, salty on the tip of Morrigan’s tongue when she licks at the tender spot between shoulder and collarbone. 

Underneath the sex, Morrigan can taste Cassandra’s own scent, and when she closes her eyes, burying her face in the crook of the Seeker’s neck, her mind fills with half-glimpsed images. She sees a younger version of the woman writhing under her weight, head studiously bent as she studies an old treaty in Montsimmard’s Library. She feels the old wounds that still plague the warrior with pain when the weather turns as if they were her own, then the images recede, a Seeker’s natural defences hindering Morrigan’s Sight. 

When she feels Cassandra let completely go and relax with a little whimper, Morrigan opens her eyes, their gold gathering the light as she opens herself to magic. She whispers one word and vines come into being around the headboard, slithering silently down the bed to wrap ever so gently around Cassandra’s wrists, then guiding her arms back above her head. 

Cassandra gasps, and outrage fills her eyes, but Morrigan places a hand on her chest shaking her head. She feels the Seeker’s own power pulse in response to the magic travelling her body, and allows it to spread up her arm to show the Seeker she truly means no harm with her little spell. 

Her flesh tingles with it and her skin feels tender, as if she stayed under the sun for hours. Morrigan knows that, if she wanted to, Cassandra could set her blood alight, and the thought should be terrifying. 

But Morrigan, much like Flemeth, cannot help she likes to play with fire even when it threatens to burn her into dust.

At the sight of the Seeker tied to the bed, Morrigan feels herself drip, her arousal and the warrior’s mingling to the point they become indistinguishable. Still, when she sees the inner workings of Cassandra’s jaw as the woman grits her teeth she relents, pressing her lips to the Seeker’s ear.

“I can dispense with the ties, if they bother you.” She whispers, smiling when Cassandra shakes her head. 

“No.” The usually cutting Nevarran accent has softened, and Cassandra’s tone is half-surprised, like she’s giving an answer she’d never thought would fall from her lips. “I am just unused to being so...out of control.” She concludes wonderingly, with a dry chuckle. Morrigan lifts her head and their eyes meet. 

“And is it a bad feeling?” She prods, choosing her words with a regard she rarely feels the need to use. Flemeth raised her to always speak her mind, without much sugarcoating. 

“You make me want to explore things I never thought I wanted.” Cassandra admits, hazel eyes full of earnesty.  

Morrigan is honored, but she will not admit to it even under torture. She bridges the distance between them again, kissing the Seeker heatedly, hands palming her breasts roughly, before letting her mouth travel lower. She follows a tortuous path, sucking purplish marks into Cassandra’s flesh, the Seeker’s moans spurring her to bite harder. 

When her mouth reaches Cassandra’s chest the Seeker arches upwards, her back leaving the bed and her arms tensing, hands gripping at the vines that keep her bound. 

A ridged scar runs across Cassandra’s chest, drawing a raised line that follows the inside curve of her right breast before tapering off at the flare of her ribcage. A sword’s slash if Morrigan ever saw one, and she is reminded of how many times she tended to the Warden back in Ferelden. She is sure that there is a story behind this scar, as there is one behind all the others adorning the Seeker’s body. Perhaps one day Cassandra will tell her all of her stories, and Morrigan realizes - with more than a touch of shock - that much like the Seeker admitted, she is contemplating things she never thought she wanted.

Cassandra’s hips cant upwards, and as their clits rub into each other Morrigan is pulled back to the present. She’ll have time to dissect her own thoughts later. 

She presses her mouth to the scar, licking her way downward, along the taut, quivering muscles of Cassandra’s belly. She slithers down, hands lingering over the Seeker’s breasts, and as she nears her goal, her mouth begins to water. 

She slows down just before reaching Cassandra’s mound, tracing the curve of her hip outwards, then ghosting kisses first down a thigh and then up the other.

Cassandra meowls in weak protest, muscles twitching with each of Morrigan’s kisses, as arousal pools on the bed. Finally, just when the Seeker starts to tug at her restraints, Morrigan gives up her teasing, mouth falling open to place a slurping kiss over Cassandra’s dripping sex. 

Cassandra’s hips lift up, and she offers herself like a sacrifice on the altar of Morrigan’s greedy mouth. It’s a gift that she readily accepts, tongue lapping at Cassandra’s folds before she pushes deeper, exploring her lover in the most intimate way. 

She’s used her fingers and a smidge of magic before, but drinking of the Seeker’s essence feels far more intimate. She’s had her share of lovers - another thing Flemeth taught her had been to never forbid herself her pleasure - but she’d never seen them as more than occasional bed warmers. 

But Cassandra is different - the woman caused a shift in her desires - a landslide that Morrigan, who embraces change as the foundation of her magic, dreads and craves at the same time. 

She’s shed roles much the same way Mother discarded bodies once they grew too old and feeble to serve her purpose; first she was the Warden’s companion, and then the advisor to the Empress in Orlais. She took her post at the Inquisitor’s side with the intention of melting in the shadows once the threat was dealt with. She doesn’t want people to speak her name in fear, rather Morrigan is quite alright with the idea of being a footnote in the most obscure parts of the world’s history. 

But Cassandra makes her want to  _ stay _ . In her arms and between her legs, she admits to herself with a blush she buries against her lover’s thigh. 

The Seeker makes Morrigan want to step into the light even though she’s always dreaded the idea of casting her own shadow. 

She pushes troubling thoughts into the furthest recess of her mind and resumes her ministrations. She flicks her tongue along Cassandra’s slit, gathering as much of her arousal as she is able to savor it, before she closes her lips around the Seeker’s clit to form a tight seal. 

She harshly sucks on the nub of flesh, drawing guttural noises out of the Seeker, then lets her mouth drop open and circles the tip of Cassandra’s quivering clit with her tongue. Cassandra’s hips shake so hard she has to chase her around a little, and the Seeker ends up grinding herself over Morrigan’s lips and chin.

Morrigan knows that her lover is close to her release, Cassandra’s moans chasing one another almost continuously. She redoubles her efforts, lapping at her lover’s sex with an ever faster rhythm and the moment she perceives Cassandra is about to unravel in her mouth, she moves one of her hands -which had been tormenting the other woman’s breasts - down the Seeker’s body, coating her fingers in sticky wetness before entering her to the hilt. 

Cassandra screams her name once, twice, and then her hips start to quake frantically as she drives herself onto Morrigan’s fingers. Her walls flutter shut and she comes undone with one last scream, release flooding both Morrigan’s hand and her mouth. 

She twists her fingers in response, thrusting as deep as she can reach and stroking Cassandra’s front wall insistently, causing more of the Seeker’s release to drip down her chin and on the bed. 

Their tempo slows, Cassandra’s hips stuttering to a stop as Morrigan slows her fingers down, gently lowering her lover back onto the bed, free hand rubbing circles on her lower belly. 

When the Seeker stills, her limbs going slack as the last aftershocks course through her, Morrigan withdraws her fingers, retracing the same path she took towards Cassandra’s core. She climbs up the Seeker’s body and settles against her side, drawing the pelt back over them without speaking. 

Cassandra’s eyes have fluttered close, but she turns her head to face Morrigan and tiredly nuzzles into her cheek. 

Morrigan smiles, and rests her forehead against her lover’s, letting her heart fill swell with something she is far too scared to call love. 

Above their heads - silent and unnoticed - white lilies bloom along the vines. 

************************************

Cassandra wakes hours later, the day progressed into a serene evening that splashes the sky with gold and crimson. She stretches limbs pleasantly leaden, the twinges of old injuries not as painful as they usually are upon waking. When she opens her eyes, she finds that the spot where Morrigan had been laying is empty, but the bed feels warm - a clear sign that the witch left her side not that long ago. 

She sits up stifling a yawn, and shudders as her mind runs through the list of things that surely nobody thought about doing in her absence.  As she rubs her eyes clear of sleep, her gaze comes to rest on a scrap of parchment, half-tucked under the nearby washbasin. 

She kicks the pelts away and stands, wincing when her spine cracks loudly. Padding to the table, she gathers her clothes along the way, and while struggling back into her rumpled shirt she reaches for the parchment. 

The handwriting is jutting and angular, much like Morrigan’s personality. It’s not a declaration of love, but then again Cassandra doesn’t expect one. 

And yet, the simple words bring the kind of smile that hasn’t curved her lips since the day she lost her brother Anthony. 

_ Let’s do it again sometime. _

Cassandra can’t help but hold the note to her chest, like those lovesick girls Varric writes about in his novels. She is glad that Morrigan frightens the servants far too much for one of them to wander in and see her this way. And if Leliana saw her now, she’d never hear the end of it, even though the Nightingale is the one who would better understand.

In her years as a Seeker Cassandra has seen the Law of Return come to pass many times, but always it was villains getting back three times the evils they had sown, their punishment oft delivered by the cutting edge of her own sword. 

But now, as she stands in the middle of Morrigan’s chambers like a fool - one too romantic for her own good by half - she dares to think the Maker is looking down on her, and that she’s done enough of a difference in this world to get some good in return. 

She finishes redressing, tucking the note securely within the padding of her chest plate, then hurries out to find Trevelyan and the rest of the Inquisitor’s advisors. 

The memory of Morrigan’s body against her own keeps her warm for many nights after. 

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on TUMBLR for more stories and exclusive content](https://kendrene.tumblr.com/)


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